waved his one arm
from the ranch door. He came to meet us. His eyes were sticky and
swollen and his face pale and set, but he smiled just the same.

"Here's the doctor," we reported. "How is he?"

"Not so bad, as long as we keep the cold compress on. He's slept."

"Good," said the doctor. "We'll fix him up now, all right."

He swung off, with his case, and Fitz took him right in. Van and I sort
of tumbled off, and stumbled along after. Those forty miles at trot and
fast walk had put a crimp in our legs. But I tell you, we were thankful
that we had done it!

And here was our second Sunday.

CHAPTER XXI

THE LAST DASH

That young doctor was fine. He took things right into his own hands, and
Major Henry said all right. The major was weak but game. He was gamer
than any of us. Fitz and Red Fox Scout Ward had slept some by turns, and
the two women were ready to help, too; but the doctor gave Red Fox Scout
Van Sant and me the choice of going to sleep or going fishing.

It was Sunday and we didn't need the fish. We didn't intend to go to
sleep; we just let them show us a place, in the bunk-house, and we lay
down, for a minute. For we were ready to help, as well as the rest of
them. A Scout must not be afraid of blood or wounds. We only lay down
with a blanket over us, instead of going fishing--and when I opened my
eyes again the sun was bright and Fitz and Ward were peeking in on us.

They were pale, but they looked happy.

Van and I tried to sit up.

"Is it over with?" we asked.

"Sure."

"Did he take it out? Was that what was the matter?"

"Yes. Want to see it?"

No, we didn't. I didn't, anyway.

"How is he? Can we see him?"

"The doctor says he'll be all right. Maybe you can see him. He's out
from under. It's one o'clock."

One o'clock! Phew! We were regular deserters--but we hadn't intended to
be.

We tumbled out, now, and hurried to wash and fix up, so that we would
look good to the major. Sick people are finicky. The daughter was in the
kitchen, but the mother and the doctor were eating. There was a funny
sweetish smell, still; smell of chloroform. It is a serious smell, too.

The doctor smiled at us. "I ought to have taken yours out, while you
were asleep," he joked. "I've been thinking of it."

"Is he all right?" we asked; Fitz and Ward behind us, ready to hear
again.

"Bully, so far."

"Indeed he is," added the mother.

"Can we see him?"

"You can stand on the threshold and